The Silent Exchange
by Cosmo-Donatien
Summary: His disappearance marked the start of her obsession, and an unexpected encounter has the potential to turn fantasy into reality. A one-shot Lizzington fic exploring the thoughts and feelings of Lizzie in the aftermath of Anslo Garrick's siege and Red's disappearance.
1. Chapter 1

**THE SILENT EXCHANGE**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or pretend to own, The Blacklist or any of the characters from the series. The lyrics used in this work are from 'Love, Love, Love' by Of Monsters & Men. I am making no money from this.

* * *

_Maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away;_  
_Yeah, maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it.  
_ _Maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad person..._

Two months. It was a sizable chunk of time. More than enough for Elizabeth Keen's anxious mind to run every moment she and Reddington had ever worked together, every word they had ever exchanged, and every second they had been in the same room as each other through her head; she picked over the minutiae in the vain hope he had left some clue as to where he could be found. _If you are in need._ Her own head had turned against her over time as she came to the realisation that every time he had put a piece of himself in front of her – _I have you_ – she had been so quick to shoot him down, to sweep his honesty aside in favour of the task at hand and her own need to keep him at arm's length out of... what, exactly? It wasn't fear. In the end she put it down to her tumultuous early childhood, as she tended to do with everything that made no sense to her.

_Go to Hell._

Regardless of where her need to keep a gulf of distance between them stemmed from, somewhere along the line it had changed; at some point in his self-imposed absence from the team she had begun to feel the niggle of regret at the back of her mind and, as the days slogged by with no new leads on his whereabouts, that niggle had only grown into a gnawing nagging in her gut. _You can trust me_. Despite the fact she knew so little about him he had told her time and time again that she could trust him, and only now he was gone did she consider just how alone she felt, how she had been leaning on him for emotional support without realising, how she rushed to shut him out when she should have taken into account the time and effort he had clearly expended on her and for her; all too late she had realised she should have trusted him completely from the start, however absurd that would have appeared.

* * *

The third month marked a change in Liz's thought pattern. Her ruminations and regrets had turned to longings. _Are you my father?_ She had felt so lost since losing Sam; she had no idea why the question came to her at that moment, she had just found her mouth running away from her head in the aftermath of Garrick's siege... she didn't want to be alone.

_No_.

She hadn't known his answer would only serve to pique her interest in his interest; rather than lessen the mystery surrounding him it had only presented her with more complex questions. Why did he care for her quite so much? His endearments and brief touches began to take on new meaning in her memory. The way he held himself around her. The searching gaze that it seemed he reserved for her alone. The obsession Zamani had referred to, right in the beginning... could it be romantic? Did he have some image of her in his mind that he- she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to consider that he thought of her in such a way, but her traitorous mind would not be silenced.

She had a feeling he was still nearby, still keeping one eye on her while he got on with whatever it was that he was up to. On several occasions, when she was grocery shopping or sitting outside a café with a book and cappuccino, she had the distinct feeling of being watched; it was more comforting to think it was Red rather than anybody else, so she had allowed herself to believe it was him... to hope. _Be careful of your husband_. She pictured him emerging from the passers-by and seating himself opposite her outside the café, or meandering up to her in the store... the gas station... as she walked Hudson, the clouds of their breath mingling as they stood facing each other in the cold night air. It was at this point her mind's descent turned into a plummet.

She had found herself unashamedly fantasising about him returning in the middle of the night; coming to her house and watching over her, although events in her mind soon turned to him appearing in her bedroom, wrapping her in the warmth of his protection and understanding. She woke with butterflies when she realised she yearned for him, the security he represented, and his physical presence in a far more intimate way than just 'FBI Agent' and 'Most Wanted #4'. She had made a habit of picturing Red's face in place of her husband's in an effort to make her marriage feel less of a charade, to make her performance convincing; she had initially felt guilty and ashamed at her wantonness but had come to accept the fact that several times a week she bit another man's name back in the darkness of their room as Tom collapsed beside her in a sweaty, breathless heap. _Be careful of your husband_, Red's voice, smooth and rich, relentlessly echoed around her skull until she would fall into an exhausted yet fitful sleep every time.

* * *

_These fingertips will never run through your skin,  
_ _And those bright blue eyes can only meet mine  
_ _Across a room filled with people that are  
_ _Less important than you._

Month four rolled around and her thoughts were at screaming pitch; she felt like a saucepan boiling over on the inside, and fought to affect outward calm as she went about her everyday existence. Tom had left her for the weekend; a stag party for Jason, one of his college buddies, he had said. She didn't know what to believe. Her friends – the few who hadn't completely given up on her – dragged her out of the house to a local bar for a 'catch up'. The place was rammed and while her friends chatted and gossiped around her she felt removed from the situation entirely – outside herself, like a part of her was missing and she was only just truly coming to accept how hollow that left her feeling. Abigail had suggested they all hit 'Element', the newest club in town, so they could party like they did before they settled down to the 'humdrum of adult life', she had said. Liz made her excuses – tired, work in the morning, can't leave Hudson too long – and opted to stay in the bar; only one of the girls asked if she was okay, though didn't hang around for her answer, before the gaggle of women bustled out of the bar and into the night. She didn't envy them for the hangovers they would be nursing the following day.

Despite the raucous atmosphere, she was content enough to be left alone with her runaway thoughts and moved to sit on one of the stools at the bar. As she sat playing with the stem of her wine glass she felt like she was being watched again; she didn't move, save for flicking her eyes around the room until they landed on a face she had been seeking for months. He was still, staring straight at her, unblinking on the other side of the bar; she drank in his familiar features; the quirk of his lips as she lifted her face to stare openly back at him. She returned his nod of acknowledgement and released a shaky breath as he rounded the bar and smoothly seated himself on the stool beside her without a word. The din of the establishment faded as her entire being focused on him; the heat of his thigh, not quite touching hers, seeping through the leg of her pants and the subtle scent of him surrounding her made the experience different from any fantasy she might have dreamt up as she sat there. He said nothing, just sat beside her looking straight ahead until they had both drained their glasses, and even then he only spoke to order them both the same again; his voice was rougher than the one she heard in her head every day, and he sounded tired. In a stolen moment she studied him while he was distracted – a rare occurrence – by the bartender; he looked paler than she remembered, and his chin and cheeks were smattered with salt and pepper stubble; his clothes, while appropriate for the wintry weather, were nowhere near as sharp as the suits she was so used to seeing him in. Essentially, he looked like anybody other than the Concierge of Crime, which she knew was precisely the purpose, but she wasn't sure she liked it. Not on him.

Even with fresh drinks on the bar before them he said nothing, just picked up his tumbler and sipped at his whisky as she sipped at her wine. She wanted to say something, but had no idea where to start; 'Hello,' didn't seem an appropriate greeting, and nor did 'Where the fuck have you been?' She sipped at her wine a little more quickly than she usually would, her mind forming a plan. The bar was no place for a conversation, if they were going to have one at all; her house stood empty, save for Hudson, and she would rather be on familiar ground in any situation that posed the very real chance she would end up sobbing openly. She drained her glass and smirked slightly at his questioning eyes as she placed the empty glass on the bar and slipped off the stool, he understood her intention then and drained his own glass before standing and wordlessly offering her his arm; she took it, something she would never have done all those months ago, and he allowed her to lead them from the bar and into a waiting taxi.

* * *

_You love, love, love,  
_ _When you know I can't love you..._

When she invited him over the threshold and into her home her anxiety did not abate, despite being on her own turf. Her nerves were getting the better of her so she gestured for Red to remain in the lounge as she busied herself with making coffee she wasn't sure either of them wanted. He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, brow raised at the gurgling coffee machine. She switched it off and followed him back into the lounge, taking a seat at the end of the couch. He sat in the middle, something she had not expected him to do; she suddenly felt completely transparent under his gaze – she was used to sitting at opposite ends of the couch with him staring out of a window, not sitting in such close proximity with his entire attention focused solely on her. She found herself unnerved and excited by the difference. In order to deal with her nerves she decided to play the same game as him and gazed straight back – her mind briefly interjected the age old quote warning against staring into abysses – and she felt the atmosphere of the room shift as they sat, openly regarding each other in the low lamplight of the lounge, closer than they'd ever sat before; he invaded her every sense, and she found herself unable to do any more than absorb his presence. His appearance, while scruffy, was refreshingly ordinary and made her feel like they were on a more even playing ground, although his intense gaze hinted at the depth of his knowledge – while she wanted to believe it she knew this man was above her, however much he led her to believe they were equals, it was his nature to always be one step ahead of her and neither of them could deny the fact. In the stuffy silence of the room, and in such close proximity, she heard his measured breaths as he inhaled with his mouth – the air catching and whistling slightly around naturally uneven teeth – and exhaled through his nose... she could also practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he regarded her with critical eyes; he was looking for something in her, though she was just looking at him. The scent of him that had seemed light in the bar now surrounded her and she detected subtle spices within his cologne – it was a delicate scent, though masculine – and there was something else, some other accent to his scent that she could only think of as being him... it warmed her, brought blood blooming into her cheeks as she reveled in the exquisite yet understated bouquet that smacked of sophistication and she found that she wanted his comforting and tantalising scent to surround her forever.

Red surprised her out of her thoughts when he found her hand and drew it to rest in his on his thigh; she found herself squeezing his hand tightly while her other hand moved to grip his wrist and traveled over his forearm, it was as though she needed affirmation that he was really sitting beside her – that he was flesh and blood and bone and sinew just like her. He still knew exactly who she was, even though she had forgotten herself somewhere along the way, and she clung to that knowledge as tightly as she held his hand. His free hand came to enclose her wandering one and he pulled it up to his face, her palm brushing against the rough stubble of his cheek; she cupped his face with her hand freely and brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. His eyelids fluttered closed at her caress and his lips parted slightly; she felt the rushing return of temptation at the sight of his totally unguarded expression, his shoulders sloping as he relaxed into her touch. She had considered that her marriage vows meant next to nothing to her for the past couple of months; she believed Red about Tom, however reluctant she was to see it at first. Her husband was undoubtedly a part of something, and though she didn't know exactly what that something was she knew that Red would not have warned her so emphatically if it was not potentially dangerous to her. He gripped her wrist to hold her hand in place and turned his head into her touch. His lips pressed softly against the middle her palm and then brushed down to the base of her thumb; his grip loosened as he pressed a final feather-light kiss to the inside of her wrist before he completely released her and returned his eyes to meet hers.

_So I think it's best we both forget  
_ _Before we dwell on it..._

His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes were dark and hungry; she felt drawn to him and found herself leaning into him, her need to match fantasy with reality spurring her movement. When the thought that he might not want any more than to kiss her hand and sit in silence popped into her head, she faltered on her course but he finally moved to close the distance between them, their lips meeting hesitantly at first as they wordlessly confirmed that it was what they both wanted and needed. The final sense that had not yet been appeased rejoiced; he tasted faintly of the whisky he had imbibed in the bar, of cigars – he hadn't quite given up all of his luxuries – and a hint of mint. Fleetingly, she worried how she must taste, although he didn't seem to mind as their kiss became more confident. She cracked one eye open just to watch him, and she reveled in the sight of him, lost in the moment; she soon closed her eye again to join him in shutting out the rest of the world and the complex events they found themselves embroiled in. Reluctantly they broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other, both sets of eyes fixed on her hand that still gripped his tightly. His jaw moved briefly, as though he was attempting to form a verbal response, but no sound came from him and she was thankful for that; the silent communication they maintained suited the situation, and to break it might just shatter the crystal of the moment.

She considered her next move carefully before she stood from the couch, pulling him with her by the hand she refused to relinquish to him. Without looking back she led him to the stairs before ascending them. She felt his weight pull slightly at her hand as they reached the top of the stairs and she turned to face him; she stood on the landing and he on the step below, bringing their faces level – she nodded at him by way of confirmation that she was sure this was what she wanted and he took the step to join her on the landing, nodding toward the bedroom door. He allowed her to lead him into her room and reluctantly relinquished her hand as she moved ahead of him to kick off her shoes and shrug out of her jacket; she turned to look him in the eye as she began to undo her blouse, fingers shaking as she passed each button through its corresponding hole before finally removing it and standing before him in her pants and bra. He approached her slowly, shoes heavy on the floorboards and took his own coat off, throwing it on the pile with her clothes. He stood close to her and she laid her palms flat against his chest, her eyes still searching his for... she didn't even know what anymore. She just needed him to tell her everything would work out, that the disaster that her life had become would have a happy ending; she wanted him to be that happy ending, however improbable it might be. She'd even accept an outright lie from him at this point, so long as he supported her in her fantasy. Slowly, she slid her hands down until she gripped the hem of the polo neck he wore and she tugged it out of his belt and up his torso; he stopped her halfway and removed the top himself, discarding it across the room without a glance. His hands came down on her shoulders and he ran his slightly rough palms down the length of her arms and back up again before repeating the action. She scraped her nails lightly through the soft hair on his chest and trailed them down to his belt, at which point she heard him suck in a breath and hold it; she glanced at his face and saw he had tilted his head back and closed his eyes at the sensation. With a shy smile she set to work on his belt and then the buttons of his fly, letting his pants pool around his ankles for him to step out of. He returned the favour and slid her pants over her hips, hands following her contour, before he let them fall in a heap. They divested themselves of their own socks before stopping to regard each other again. She opened her mouth to speak, though she had no idea what to say in the moment, and he shook his head to stop her; he understood that she needed this and she understood that, while he was willing to give her anything, he would not remain there with her for reasons he would not divulge. _I am never telling you everything_. It would be enough for her, for now at least, and she would take whatever she could get from him while he was offering himself so freely.

Liz pushed away from him and turned to walk to the bed, the butterflies beating a tattoo in her stomach as she deftly unhooked her bra and dropped it on the bedside table before she turned and sat on the edge, looking up at him shyly through her lashes. With light steps Red crossed the room and sat beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight caused her to overbalance into his side; she pulled away from him, embarrassed, but he turned her by the shoulder to face him and cocked his head to one side as he considered her. The silence between them and the tension she sensed felt stifling, and she looked away from him. His hand found hers once more and squeezed reassuringly; it was her turn to fix him with a questioning gaze. He released her hand and scooted backward to the other side of the bed, stretching himself out on his side with his head resting in the crook of his arm, and held his other arm open to her with a look of encouragement on his face. Though she didn't quite understand why he stopped her from jumping his bones she thought better than to push the idea and pulled the duvet out from under him before she climbed in and covered them both. She lay on her side facing him, one hand resting on his ribs, and they regarded each other once more; she noted that his eyes seemed different in his completely relaxed state and realised that he must have known about Tom's absence over the weekend to have approached her so readily in the bar and agree to return to her home, he knew he had nothing to worry about in her space aside from Hudson who had slept through their return. Not that Hudson was worrisome at all, house-training aside. Red ducked his head to hers and planted a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth; she turned into him and met his lips with hers, accepting that they would go no further regardless of how amorous they might be feeling. She allowed her palm to graze up and down his ribs as he resolutely kept his hand on her hip, thumb grazing her side as their lips said everything they had not all night.

They broke apart and she shifted in an effort to find a more comfortable position for her left arm, which was rapidly going numb; Red huffed a breath that sounded like a quiet chuckle and indicated that she should turn around. She followed his advice and laid on her preferred side, welcoming the slight scratchiness of his chest hair as he scooted closer to her and tucked his legs behind hers, his arm coming around her to keep her close to him. She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she felt herself relax into him completely; she welcomed the calm he brought with him, her chaotic thoughts quietened as she listened to his breathing even out. Wrapped in his heavy embrace and surrounded by the scent of him, she soon fell into a deep and restful slumber for the first time since he had disappeared from her life.

* * *

_The way you held me tight  
_ _All through the night_ _  
'Til it was morning..._

Liz woke alone and found the sheets on the other side of the bed were cool. She allowed herself to mourn his departure as she rose and descended the stairs to put a pot of coffee on. She went back up to the bedroom with a steaming mug of java, knowing she would find no trace of his presence anywhere except her bed as the faint scent of him clung to her sheets. She resolved to enjoy the feeling of serenity it brought her until she had to change the bed before Tom returned home from his weekend away. In the light of the morning she found herself thankful that Red had stopped her from doing something she may have come to regret – she wouldn't have regretted the act, per se, but more the timing; when Tom returned she would not have the pressure of yet another secret to keep to herself and he would have no reason to suspect her of anything; even when she was offering her body to him, all Red was concerned for was her safety in his absence.

Later, as she pulled the bedclothes from the washer, she wanted nothing more than to seek Red out – she considered that she would run through the streets hollering his name if it would bring him to her – but she refrained and reined herself in. She found herself able to quieten her thoughts for the first time in months, although she welcomed the return of her own voice to her internal monologue. She knew he would return when he deemed the time to be right, and she knew that she would be there when he did and her world would be all the more dangerous for it, but it would also be brighter as the one true constant in her life – whether she had known he was there or not – would be beside her. She vowed to herself that, whenever he returned, she would echo his words back at him – _I will always do whatever I feel have to do to keep you alive_ – and she would mean every single one. _I have you_.


	2. Chapter 2

**THE SILENT EXCHANGE**  
**  
**

The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Outside Her House, Midnight' by Phil Burdett.

* * *

_The sailing boats of May  
Still warming in the rays  
Of an estuary sun  
Shining down on no-one._

He liked it here; sitting by the river in the early morning, nobody around. He was left with his own thoughts and ruminations, free of obligation for the few short hours between waking and the time he would turn his attention to business matters. He walked the same footpath along the riverbank every morning, appreciated the morning quiet from a bench along the way before attempting to unknot his conflicted emotions regarding a certain FBI agent. He failed every time; his thoughts whirled and his mind shut down after thinking of her for too long, of recent events and the new situation he was still attempting to get a handle on, and he found he could think no more of any of it. _If at first you do not succeed_, his mother's voice murmured somewhere in the recesses of his memory, urging him on; whether he trudged, strode or shuffled, he came by the same path every morning and tried anew to unravel the complex web of half-truths he had clothed himself in all over again. He was getting back to himself, slowly but surely, but his future remained frustratingly shrouded in the fog of uncertainty.

_I'm in the way  
Of something starting up  
No water has my cup  
I'm all beaten up_

He had left after Garrick. It was a necessary action, yet he still felt the stinging bite of cowardice. He should have been there, stayed near to make sure everything was alright, that she was coping; he had instead fled with nothing but a scant few seconds on a nondescript payphone by way of farewell. _Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing_. He had promised her he would be there, knowing all the while that he would be too far away, too isolated to be of any use, and the lie had hurt him to tell. Bloodied, bruised, and in some places broken, he had disappeared underground to lick his wounds and consider the bigger picture – the new situation he found himself in, and the possible chain of events that were to come.

He dealt with the aftermath of Luli's death, organising her cremation through Grey – his only brief contact while he was off the grid – steeling himself for the day her urn was delivered; he had allowed himself a moment of weakness then, a few tears shed for his loyal aide, friend and one-time lover. She would not be forgotten nor would she be overshadowed by another, that much he promised himself. He held a certain respect for each of the women in his life, all strong characters that had no qualms when it came to showing irritation or displeasure with him, which made him love and trust them all the more; he had love for each of them individually – not necessarily romantic – and not one of them would be forgotten as they had each left their own mark upon him.

He sighed deeply, secure in the knowledge he was alone on his isolated bench, his breath expelled in a cloud which quickly dissipated in the cold morning air, yet the action did nothing to lessen the weight he felt bearing down on his shoulders. He was in a rut, and it seemed the more he tried to think himself out of it the further he dug himself in. He felt old.

_I've been giving myself some rope  
Just enough to hang out all of my hopes  
I've got a criminal mind  
But she's been so kind_

_Soft, hard, and then soft again. _He hadn't embellished on his opinion of her in his description to Sam; he had come to know her moods and her ways over the years he had kept tabs on her, and with that had come a fondness at first, an amusement, then an appreciation before he had become distracted by other events in his business that required his undivided attention. By the time he had returned his attentions to her, face-to-face this time, he had been blindsided by the change in her, as well as his own feelings; somewhere, when he wasn't looking, he had developed quite the fancy for the young FBI profiler and as much as he wanted his second chance, as much as he assured her she would give him that, he had never felt less deserving in the knowledge that he would be held responsible for tearing her carefully constructed world down. Her life's work – her whole world – would be in ruins by the time he was finished, and he was under no illusion that she would hate him for it; even if he could tell her she would never understand, however simply he worded it, the reasons why.

Over the two months he had written countless letters, each one more pleading than the next, or too short, too long, too wordy, or not loquacious enough to convince her he was the same as he was when he had left her; there wasn't enough ink in the world to hide just how affected he was. He threw none of the letters out, instead he kept them under his mattress – in some of them were his most personal confessions, and as much as he ought to have destroyed them immediately he had stayed his hand. He hadn't long since admitted the depth of his feelings for her to himself and he wasn't certain he could tell her, in all honesty; despite his way with words, they seemed to fail him in this. Perhaps, he considered, if he never revealed his true feelings to her personally by the time his safe house was uncovered by the Feds – and for this to happen he would have been removed from the mortal coil indefinitely – his letters would finally give her some measure of the truth; at this terrible vision of a possible future he had immediately removed the letters from their hiding place and threw them into the fire – they would only serve to cause her further turmoil, and possibly disgust. She could hate him, he had prepared himself for that eventuality, but he would not give her the ammunition to belittle his emotions and innermost secrets.

* * *

_And the time is swirling  
Just like paper on the wind_

Another month plodded by with his mornings spent in silent reflection by the river and his evenings spent at his writing desk in the dim lamplight bent over another letter to his Lizzie, never to be sent, his wine long since forgotten on the sideboard as he argued with himself over his own wording. He pushed himself back from the desk, chair legs scraping against the floorboards, and scrubbed at his unshaven face with his hands in an effort to clear her from his mind. He lacked clarity, his perspective of the situation was warped by her and by the tension he had undoubtedly left her with. He glared at the pitiful desk lamp, its mediocre light barely lifting the shadows in the room, his brow set in a deep frown as he attempted to quiet his racing mind. His frustrations left him tired and irritable, and without a glance at the unfinished letter he rose from his seat and clambered the stairs with heavy steps to the empty darkness of his bedroom, his mood unimproved by the prospect of another fitful night's sleep.

_I've felt like sin  
Oh, where to begin?_

He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling as he wound down, his eyes eventually fluttering closed as he called up a memory of her face, her expression wide-eyed and curious... searching. He didn't bother to try to stop his body's reaction to the thought of her; he hadn't had any human contact in weeks and the thought of her softness left him reeling, the recollection of her scent – earthy and wholesome with the slightest hint of musk – and he gave himself over to a flight of fancy with a shiver of anticipation. The flash of her eyes as she smiled playfully, though she had never turned that smile on him he knew it well enough; the tantalising imagining of her touch on his bare skin, her body pressed flush with his, curves moulding to him. He palmed himself as images of her flooded his mind and he recalled nights spent with other women, superimposing his Lizzie's face on each one as he brought himself to a swift completion; he lay sweating and panting in the silence of his lonely safe house, eventually slipping into sleep, his dreams constructed around her.

He woke with an unexpected sense of purpose. He still took his usual walk by the river but his pace was brisk, and he passed by his usual bench without a thought as he turned the half-plan he'd worked out over in his head. He would see her again, FBI be damned; he knew they were looking for him, of course, but they'd never catch him unless he wanted them to. He would keep Dembe in the dark, and Grey for that matter, too. It would be a sojourn, a brief foray into her life, to reassure her and himself that everything was alright... for the moment at least. He had a burning need to know that she was coping well enough for him to take the time he needed to properly regroup and refocus on his master plan, of which the Blacklist was a small part... or so he told himself; underlying his protectiveness was a hope that she might recognise the depth of his feeling and reciprocate in kind; it dangled like a shining thread in the desolation of his long neglected heart, and he shielded it from his own harsh cynicism, unwilling to relinquish it until he had a definitive answer from her.

He returned to the safe house and spent the remainder of the day removing all trace of himself; he could have got somebody in to do it, but he found himself unable to trust anybody at this juncture, and he wasn't up to Kaplan's particular brand of banter of the inevitable answers she would demand from him. He would return, though quietly; he was doing nobody any good hiding away, least of all Lizzie. It had been three months since the Garrick incident and nothing had happened to him or to anybody else, as far as he was aware. Fitch had made it abundantly clear that if they wanted to take him out they could find him anywhere, and he hadn't made it difficult for them; a small part of him would have welcomed the permanent relief they could have provided him two months previously, when he would have given anything to stop feeling like he was losing his grip on everything. As he turned the key in the front door of the house he also locked away the anxiety that nagged in the pit of his stomach – the hope that she hadn't lost all faith in him and that the trust they had built was not in tatters as he feared.

* * *

_Master in the art of surprise  
I look so handsome if you close your eyes_

He had found her easily enough and had come to know her routine without much effort, especially at the weekends. She shopped for groceries alone, and often stopped at a small café on a street full of convenient places for him to observe undetected; he had the feeling she knew she was being watched but was confident she had not seen him. He watched as she lost herself in books, shutting the rest of the world out; it was in these moments as her imagination was engaged she seemed to light up, he had been all too aware of the lack of spark in her on his return and it concerned him. His gut twisted as he berated himself for leaving her at all. She was alone in every sense; something he was all too familiar with.

_But I'm a consolation prize  
You won't close your eyes_

His doubt that she would respond in kind if he were to tell her of his obsession with her, for that was what he admitted it was, ate at him the longer he spent watching her going about her daily business. He passed by her house, watched the lights go out in the upstairs windows, and assured himself of her safety despite the man she shared her home with. He lost the battle with himself completely, unable to shut down the feelings he had for her; he admitted his jealousy that she was currently no more than thirty feet away from him in bed with a man she had no business being married to, and the burn of it warmed him in the bitter winter's night as he ground his teeth in frustration.

Just the next weekend he overheard her conversation with her husband on the phone – the traitor would be away the following weekend, out of town for some crass stag party – and Red's world brightened as he mulled over the implications of that particular tidbit. Information was his business, after all, and the things he could do with the right piece of information were virtually limitless. He hadn't felt nervousness in years, but the butterflies in his stomach betrayed just how anxious he was at the idea of presenting himself to her while her husband was out of town; how would she respond? Could he really predict her reaction, now that their situations had changed so much? He thought not, and the realisation excited him. He left her to her grocery shopping and returned to the little hotel he had been staying in – it was nowhere near his usual standard, but he could hardly risk drawing attention to himself while he was in town.

* * *

The following Friday rolled around quickly for him and his plan to surprise her at her home the following evening was practically set in stone; feeling accomplished, he headed for the nearest watering hole and settled himself at the bar. He ordered a whisky to celebrate his impromptu, though brief, return.

He had been in the bar for just over an hour, and was considering leaving due to the escalating noise of the Friday night crowds, when a gaggle of women chattering excitedly burst through the doors. He cringed inwardly at the extra noise they brought with them, glaring in their general direction until his eyes alighted on one of them hanging back from the group. The breath left his lungs and the bottom dropped out of his stomach; there she was. Without thinking he ordered another drink, the decision to remain in the establishment already made, and he switched to the recently vacated barstool next to him in order to have a better view of her.

Surreptitiously, he watched her sit quietly while her friends talked animatedly and shrieked with laughter; he felt a pang of guilt when he was just how little she interacted, knowing that her current state was his doing. It was torture to see her so removed from the environment, despite the fact she was sitting in the middle of it. He ordered another drink. Her friends rose from their table – she seemed to be making her excuses, and he noted that nobody seemed to press her to go with them – and they soon departed; he watched as she moved to the bar and sat directly opposite him. The butterflies returned and he swallowed the last of his whisky, his eyes never leaving her. The bartender served her a large glass of wine and he watched as she span the glass slowly by its stem, her gaze fixed on the shimmering liquid, though he could tell she was lost in thought. Suddenly, her posture stiffened and he saw her surreptitiously sweeping the room; she knew she was being watched and he was torn – to leave before she caught sight of him, or-

It was too late; their eyes met, and he could do nothing but stare at her. He saw the spark that lit her sad eyes and quirked his lips slightly at the realisation that it was because of him. Her nod of acknowledgement was all the invitation he needed as he rounded the bar to perch next to her. All thought left him; he had no words for her, no comfort, not even a jibing enquiry after her colleagues. He knew Donald was on the mend. His throat felt constricted and he waved the barman over to order them both the same again. An expectant tension grew between them, and he could not bring himself to look her in the eye, the words from his letters flashing through his mind as he longed to tell her everything and beg her to come away with him – to disappear. He felt her inquisitive eyes inspecting him; he was a mess, by his own standards, and had intended to shave and don one of his customary suits before dropping by her home later that evening. This chance meeting had him off-kilter completely, and his mind whirred excitedly as he continued to enjoy her attention without letting her know at all. The heavy sound of her wine glass being set back on the bar pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked at her for the first time, wordlessly questioning her hurry; the smirk playing about her lips told him she had a better idea than quietly getting drunk together, so her stood and offered his arm before allowing her to lead them from the bar.

* * *

He had been in her home before, not that she knew it, and he was pleased to see it hadn't changed much. She'd moved the furniture a little, but otherwise all seemed as it was in his memory. She disappeared into the kitchen in a blatant attempt to pull herself together; her nervousness was almost tangible in the cab, and it had only intensified on entering her home. He followed her only to bring her back to the lounge where they sat, regarding each other silently. Still he had no words for her, no way to make her life better for the time being. The lamplight softened the shadows beneath her eyes, smoothed her often pained features, and glinted in the natural highlights in her hair – she was beautiful. Dark blue eyes gazed into his, and he could practically hear her thoughts, could see she was considering him... them... the situation they found themselves in. Wanting to reassure her in some way he reached for her hand and pulled it to him, thankful he never really suffered from clammy palms when he became nervous. The strength with which she squeezed his hand in return surprised him, and he didn't dare do anything that might cause her to let go; she caught him by surprise immediately after as her other hand trailed up his arm, and he could do nothing but give in. Her hand on his face – a fleeting caress on his stubbly cheek – and he was lost for the moment, all stresses forgotten in the cocoon of silence they maintained. His lips caressed her skin, his mouth opening and closing against her palm, the flesh beneath her thumb, speaking volumes. He pulled back and regarded her – the vital woman he had come to love beyond all reason – and he wanted her to the point he was almost pained; he was satisfied to see her own eyes dark, pupils dilated as she looked straight back at him, desire burning in their depths. He saw decision in her eyes then, stony and firm, and refrained from breaking the silence and ruining it for himself – he would have this, even if only once, and even if it meant further torment to them both. He would berate himself for being so brazenly selfish later, but for now this was all that mattered to him. His heart flipped in the cavity of his chest as she moved her face closer to his, intention evident, and he waited for her to close the remaining distance between them; at the sight of her faltering he damned himself for being so passive and moved to meet her lips with his own. Hesitant was not a word he often associated himself with, but in this instance he was just that; he would not risk her, or the tenuous trust they had built which still seemed intact, and he resolved to be careful with however much of herself she gave him. The sweetness of wine mixed with his own taste and he lost himself in the headiness of the experience as their lips remained moulded to each other. They broke apart, though she remained close, and he pulled her closer still, resting his forehead against hers; he felt her tense as he attempted to form words, so instead closed his mouth again and simply enjoyed her nearness.

She stood suddenly and without thought he allowed himself to be pulled to stand with her, his hand firmly ensconced in hers. She led him through the house and up the stairs – he had the presence of thought to give her the opportunity to stop, yet she signaled that she wanted this... him. Watching her undress was almost the end of him, and when her attentions were turned on his own clothing he found himself unable to do much more than watch her at work. Her nails on his chest, her breath disturbing the fine hairs there; every sensation was heightened and the weight of expectation settled around them. He watched her meander to the bed and perch on the edge, and he sensed her nerves as he joined her. He managed to shake the fog of his desire for her enough to consider that, if they continued down the path they had begun travelling down, they just might ruin whatever future relationship they might have. Reining himself in, he moved away from her and across the bed, merely opening his arms to her when she questioned his sudden change of direction; she would thank him later, he was certain. There was a time and a place; her marital bed was certainly not the place, and there wasn't enough time for him to enjoy her as he wished.

* * *

He awoke in the early hours, the skies outside still pitch black, and had carefully extricated himself from the tangle of limbs they had ended up in. He smiled at the snort she gave in her sleep before she rolled away to her own side of the bed, and thought it most endearing. She truly was glorious, and he would make her understand the depth of his feelings sooner or later; he hoped for the former. He dressed himself quickly before allowing himself one last look at her, unguarded in sleep; he tucked one of the many stray tendrils of her hair behind her ear and planted a feather-light kiss on her forehead before he turned and exited the room, opening the door with his handkerchief. He descended the stairs, listening intently for any sounds from her dog; once certain he was the only one awake in the house he moved to turn off the lonely lamp in the lounge before leaving the house in the state he arrived.

_I'll come back when the time is right  
When East is West  
And black is white_

He had found comfort in their silent exchange, in the night spent wrapped up in each other, and drew strength in the knowledge she felt the same for him. Still, he would have to leave again – it was not time to return to the FBI – although he found himself unable to leave as he had before; an invisible cord kept him tethered to her and he knew he would not stray too far this time. W_herever I am, whatever I'm doing, if you're in need I'll be there_. The lie he had told her over the phone all those months ago had morphed into a truth that burned in his gut and fueled his determination to carry on, Fitch and his employers be damned.

_In the wind and the rain  
Outside your house, midnight._

He would keep watch over her; he would return when the time was right and pick up where he left off. He would come out from the other side of this with Lizzie by his side or he wouldn't come out of it at all – in the fog of the future he was certain of that much, at the very least.


End file.
